


bitter pill generation

by tentaclemonster



Category: K-pop, Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Femslash February, Forced Orgasm, Humiliation, Object Insertion, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22523317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentaclemonster/pseuds/tentaclemonster
Summary: A snapshot from one night in the life of Iseul, an aspiring K-pop star who just wants to enjoy her youth and make it big, and her mother, Eun-jung, a former idol who can’t stand that her own glory days are over.
Relationships: Aspiring K-Pop Idol/Her Abusive Mother, Original Female Character/Original Female Character
Kudos: 201
Collections: Femslash February





	bitter pill generation

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt ‘kpop’. Title from the song ‘Bitter’ by Mikky Ekko.

“That’s what you’re wearing tonight?” Eun-jung demanded.

Iseul looked away from her task to briefly meet her mother’s eyes in the mirror before she went back to applying her lipgloss without a word. She took her time, being slow about it, careful to get it just right. When she was done, she pressed her lips together and observed her reflection critically for a moment. Her skin was flawless, her makeup perfect, her hair...needed work. 

Iseul forced herself not to frown. Il-sung always told her she was ugly when she did and that she’d end up as wrinkled as a hag by the time she was twenty-five if she kept at it, but it was hard to keep a smile on her face all the time. There was always some imperfection she saw in herself or some flaw that Il-sung or the bloggers who made a living dissecting the lives and looks of up and coming idols like they were specimens in a lab were all too happy to point out, and if Iseul and the rest of them didn’t notice something wrong with her then Eun-jung could always be counted on to root out what they had missed.

Iseul met her mother’s eyes again in the mirror and felt nauseous at the way Eun-jung looked at her with that cold, cutting observation. She was silent for now, not because Iseul had made her that way, but because she chose to be, perhaps because she knew how much her quiet unnerved Iseul much more than her screaming ever did. 

Sometimes Iseul thought her mother was aware of what she was like, that the way she treated her was all deliberate and calculating, every word and action a choice her mother made to cause her the most harm. At other times, Iseul just thought her mother was crazy. 

Eun-jung could be so unpredictable, so wild in her rage. Irrational. Ugly. There would be no way to get through to her and anything could set her off.

It hadn’t always been so bad or, at least, Iseul tried to think so. Things were never really good during her childhood when her mother was gone most of the time, still able to get work in certain clubs that liked the novelty of a former idol being there to charm customers who still had fond memories of her from their youth. When she was home she mostly ignored Iseul other than the occasional argument, but that was just normal mother-daughter friction, Iseul thought. Sometimes it got to be a little too much, sure, and even got physical, but it wasn’t so bad and it wasn’t so often that she couldn’t suck it up and deal.

It had all just gotten worse when even those club jobs had dried up and suddenly Eun-Jung was home all the time and Iseul was suddenly constantly around her and constantly dealing with her mother using her as therapist, sounding board, and emotional punching bag all rolled up into one. When her mother’s old manager, Il-sung, came around and scouted Iseul herself out to start an entertainment career, it had only exacerbated Eun-jung’s anger and bitterness. The more Iseul prospered in her career, the more her mother soured towards her and the more unpredictable she became. Iseul never knew when her mother was in the mood to hit her or play the affectionate mom and hug her and tell her she loved her, her grip too tight and refusing to let go until Iseul said she loved her back.

Iseul wished she could just ignore Eun-jung, pretend she didn’t notice her stare or the tight line of her lips, but she knew from experience that ignoring her mother only made things worse for her in the end. Paying attention to her made things worse, too, though. It was a lose-lose no matter what Iseul did.

“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” Iseul asked finally, and instantly hated herself for doing it.

Eun-jung ran her eyes down Iseul’s outfit – a sparkly gold dress, white tights, and gold shoes – with a look on her face like she’d smelled something bad. 

It made Iseul feel self-conscious despite herself. Small and hideous, like she needed to hide herself away where she couldn’t be seen.

“You’re dressed like a whore, that’s what’s wrong,” Eun-jung said, scoffing. 

“I am not,” Iseul denied in the calmest voice she could manage, though she could feel her heart already starting to beat faster in her chest with anxiety and she could already feel her face flushing with anger and embarrassment both. 

Engaging her mother was a mistake. Iseul knew it now. Hell, she always knew it about five seconds after she did it, but it was too late to take it back once she’d done it. Already, she could feel the ball rolling, taking her deeper down the hill into the fight she knew was coming.

“You need to cover up. Just look at you – I can see your ass hanging out right now.”

“This is the kind of thing girls wear to clubs now, mom, and I’m way more covered than any of them will be. If I put on anything more, I won’t fit in. They might not even let me perform and it’ll be a disaster. Is that what you want for me?”

Her mother continued like she hadn’t even heard Iseul speak, “When I was your age, Il-sung would never have let me work looking like that. You look like you have no respect for yourself. That’s what I think when I see you – there’s a girl who has no decency and no respect, just begging for a man’s attention.”

“Mom, please don’t –“

“Why else,” her mother raised her voice over Iseul’s, “would you go out like that if you weren’t looking for trouble? If you weren’t hoping some man would see you dressed like that and take you up on what you’re offering him?”

“God,  _ stop! _ ” Iseul finally snapped, “Il-sung bought me this outfit tonight for me to wear to this gig! Things aren’t the same as they were when you were working. It’s not the same world. I can’t get away with wearing the kind of shit you used to when you were my age. I’d get laughed off the fucking stage!”

Eun-jung’s head reared back like she’d been slapped. 

“Don’t take that tone with me, Iseul,” she warned.

Iseul sighed. “Mom, I don’t have a tone. I --” 

“I am  _ not _ going to put up with your attitude!”

“But I have to put up with yours?” Iseul demanded. She sighed again a second later, then closed her eyes and laughed without humor. “I’m so tired of this. I am so fucking sick of you treating me like shit and then turning around and acting like I’m the one with the problem when all I ever do is defend myself against you. It’s not my fault that you’re so bitter that no one remembers who you are anymore and you’re jealous of me because I’m going to have all the things you’re never getting back.”

The quiet after Iseul finished was deafening. All she could hear was her own breathing going in and out in fast pants and the heavy beating of her heart. Her body felt hot with anger, her throat tight with the need to scream or cry or close up and kill her. 

The regret came next and then the fear.

“Mom,” Iseul began, opening her eyes, only to flinch when saw her mother standing right behind her in the mirror barely inches away. 

Iseul felt a jolt in her chest and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, an apology or a plea, but whatever words she might have come up with were cut off when Eun-jung closed the distance between them in an instant. 

The front of her body slammed into the back of Iseul’s with enough force to knock Iseul into her vanity, the wooden edge of it digging sharply enough into her stomach to cause an immediate burn of pain. Iseul let out a startled cry that went higher, louder, as her mother pushed her down with a forceful hand on her back until she was bent over the vanity, her hands braced on its edge to stop herself from being knocked into the mirror. Eun-jung’s other hand went to Iseul’s hair where it grabbed her tightly and  _ pulled _ and Iseul couldn’t help crying out again, her eyes already stinging with tears from the pain.

“Mom, stop!” she yelled, but the words were cut off into a yelp when her protest only provoked her mother to pull her hair tighter, using her grip to shake Iseul’s head like a ragdoll. 

“I told you I will  _ not _ put up with your attitude,” Eun-jung said, her tone low and angry. She was grimacing at Iseul’s reflection in the mirror, looking at the tears dripping from Iseul’s face like she was disgusted with them. Disgusted with Iseul. “If you’d had a father, he would never have put up with it. You wouldn’t talk to a man the way you talk to me. Just look at how you act with Il-sung, jumping when he says jump. Putting on these whorish clothes for him. Do you think I don’t know what it’s like? Do you think I don’t know what men in that industry are like? You think I don’t know what you have to do to get ahead?”

“It’s not like –“

Another sharp pull of her hair had Iseul biting her tongue and going silent. 

“You’re an ungrateful little girl,” her mother told her. “It’s my fault for spoiling you, I guess, when everyone told me that I shouldn’t. That I sheltered you too much. I should have punished you more instead of letting you have your way all the time, then maybe you wouldn’t be like this now. Well, better that I set you straight now instead of never.”

Iseul bit down harder on her tongue. Her throat was tight and sore with the need to cry, and her whole body was one tense, heavy bundle of anxiety and fear. She watched her mother in the mirror as her eyes looked around the vanity top – for what, Iseul didn’t know until Eun-jung’s hand left her back and grabbed her silver hair brush off the counter, the one her grandmother had given her for her sixteenth birthday a few years back.

“It’s appropriate that I should use something of my mother’s to teach you a lesson with,” Eun-jung said. “She was a much harsher mother than I was. Maybe if I’d followed her example sooner, we wouldn’t be here today.”

Eun-jung held the brush by the bristled end and Iseul could feel the cool metal of its back through the thin fabric of her dress when her mother put the hand back between her shoulders and shoved her further into the vanity so that she was even more bent over than before. 

Eun-jung’s other hand left her hair then and went to the hem of her dress, shoving it up before her fingers clawed down the inside of her tights and ripped them harshly down. 

Iseul cried out and flinched, feeling panic course through her as her bare ass was exposed. “ _ What are you doing? _ ”

Eun-jung’s empty hand came up and slapped Iseul harshly over the top of the head, a hard enough hit to make Iseul’s forehead knock into the mirror and her ears ring. 

“Don’t speak,” Eun-jung ordered her. “If you keep running your mouth or try to fight me, this will only be worse for you.”

Her empty hand went back to Iseul’s hair, gripping it again while the hand holding the brush left her back. Iseul watched in the mirror with wide, wet eyes as her mother’s hand disappeared in between their bodies where she couldn’t see. Her whole body flinched when she felt the cold handle on the bare skin between her legs and she knew in an instant what her mother was going to do. 

Horror and terror and shock all flooded through Iseul all at once. She barely had time to register them, to plead, “No, mom, no, don’t –“ before her words turned into a shocked moan as the brush’s handle was shoved roughly inside her cunt. 

“I told you not to speak,” her mother scolded her as she pushed the handle in as far as it would go, until Iseul could feel her mother’s hand on her skin, too, where it was fisted around the bristled head of the brush. Iseul could feel every cold inch of the handle inside of her, the foreign hardness of it invading her body. She shuddered against the vanity, whining, and tried to pull away, to dislodge the object inside of her, but her mother responded to her actions with a rough tug of her hair and a twist of the handle inside of her. “And don’t  _ move!” _

Iseul’s mother wasted no time before she began thrusting the brush’s handle in Iseul, pulling it nearly all the way out of her cunt before thrusting it roughly back in while Iseul stayed bent over the vanity, the edge digging into her belly, her eyes watching her mother in the mirror and the look on Eun-jung’s face as she stared dispassionately at the place where she was fucking Iseul. 

Iseul tried to keep still, to keep her breathing even and just wait for her mother to be satisfied enough that she had learned her lesson to stop what she was doing, but the thrusts of the handle in her body seemed to go on forever. They went on until it no longer felt cold inside of her but hot, until Iseul’s body became wet wit perspiration and she could feel her cunt growing wet against her will from the way every thrust of the handle into her sent a pulse of pleasure to her clit. Iseul clenched her fingers down where they gripped the vanity to stop herself from squirming or showing any indication that her body is deriving pleasure from what’s happening to it. 

Iseul hated herself in that moment. She felt disgusted, humiliated, violated. She could taste the blood in her mouth from biting so hard on her tongue and when she swallowed, the the iron taste of it made her cough and gag, her body shuddering as she did. 

Eun-jung mistook the shuddering for something else. She grimaced in the mirror and thrust the brush’s handle into Iseul so roughly that she cried out, a bolt of both pain and pleasure running through her from the angle of the thrust.

“This isn’t for you to  _ enjoy _ ,” Eun-jung said, the disgust clear in her voice as she kept thrusting in the same way and Iseul’s body continued to respond. 

She started to squirm beneath her mother’s body and couldn’t stop the way her own body started to push back into the thrusts of the brush’s handle inside of her, trying to get it to fuck back into her every time her mother pulled it out. She could feel the pressure building in her and hated it, but she was heedless to stop it, and her mother wasn’t stopping, either, continuing to fuck Iseul with the brush with that same harsh, fisted grip in her hair pulling every now and then.

Somehow Iseul’s squirming maneuvered her in such a way that her clit was pressed against the edge of the vanity. It only took a few hard rubs against the hard wood before it was enough. Iseul moaned loudly, her eyes shutting tight as her cunt clenched around the brush’s handle and she came, her hips rocking into the vanity’s edge to ride her orgasm out for as long as it lasted.

It wasn’t long. Perhaps twenty seconds, if that, and then Iseul was done, holding herself panting and limp over the vanity, her legs shaking and weak. 

The humiliation crashed over her then as she realized what had just happened. Iseul he could feel the weight of her shame thrown over her like a blanket and she shut her eyes even tighter, feeling the hot tears leaking out of them and dripping down her face.

The handle was still inside of Iseul and after a few moments of silence, it was pulled out of her. Iseul could feel the wet slide of it, the change from being full to conspiculously empty. The silence was louder than ever after that, her quick breaths the only sound even though Iseul could feel her mother still behind her, still  _ there _ . 

Iseul desperately didn’t want to open her eyes. She wanted to keep them shut and pretend this whole nightmare was just that – a nightmare – and that she’d wake up any second now and see that none of it was real.

Iseul knew that wouldn’t happen, though. She knew that this was real and there was no escape from that.

She took in a shuddering breath and opened her eyes anyway. She saw her own reflection in the mirror – eyes red-rimmed, mascara running with tears, skin flushed red, hair a wreck.

And then she shifted her gaze and saw her mother behind her. 

Eun-jung looked back at her, her mouth a tight little nothing of an expression, her eyes full of...nothing. She looked at Iseul like Iseul was  _ nothing _ to her. 

“And you think I could ever be jealous of a whore like you,” her mother said to her, then scoffed. She threw the silver hair brush onto the vanity where it landed with a clatter and Iseul didn’t have to look at it to know its handle was wet and filthy with her fluids. “Fix your face and hair before Il-sung gets here and sees you for what you are. If you still feel like talking back to me when you come back from the club, I’ll shove a bar of soap down your throat. I think you’ll like that less than you did this.”

Eun-jung stared at Iseul for another few seconds before shaking her head, turning around and leaving without another word.

Iseul watched her mother go in the mirror and once she was gone, her legs gave out from under her. She collapsed to the floor, crying, and curled into herself, her ripped tights dangling uselessly around her feet and the feeling of the brush’s handle still a vivid memory inside of her.


End file.
